Lesson of a Liar
by HalfjeFijnVolkoren
Summary: Solely J/C. They're forced to face some truths. Janeways POV, Post Endgame.
1. Chapter 1

Every word that I process heightens my heart rate and raises my neck hair. Adrenaline, noradrenalin and cortisol cause the familiar tingling in my chest and upper arms. I usually don't mind this sensation - I order a 'Red Alert' and immediately get to business. Not this time.

'_Shadow Log of Voyagers Captain Reveals All'_

The news station was 'kind' enough to send me a first copy. Soon this piece will reach millions of their subscribers.

Messages and hails keep pouring in as my eyes shoot from paragraph to paragraph.

"I don't…I don't understand. It's encrypted. This log is supposed to be encrypted".

I'm glad we're still in our little universe -together. The shuttle is now my hiding place.

"Will it get anyone in trouble? I mean, do you have anything to hide?" He remains calm.

I avert my gaze and think.

"I think not." Silence. "I hope not." Sitting back I add "Seven years of writing -and it was like a diary almost –all my shame, my second thoughts, far more private than my personal log, all my-" I shift to the tip of my seat, "-oh no-"

"What?"

"It's mostly about you."

Chakotay pushes 'mute' and lays a hand on my arm. It comforts me.

As we ponder the possible ramifications of this breach in my privacy I tell him

"You should read it. Might as well, since the rest of all mankind gets its chance tomorrow..."

I didn't mean that last remark to sound so bitter.

He nods and emphasizes his next words with a slight squeeze "We always figure it out. Why would this be any different?"

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Instead of calibrating targeting scanners and plotting flight patterns we now prepare for battle by pouring coffee and downloading what we can from Voyagers datafiles. Our goal: preparing ourselves for the media frenzy that will no doubt explode with the morning-newsreels.

Our apartment is still shrouded in this night's darkness, making the dinnertable the sole beacon of light.

Maybe the anonymous hackers sat just like this when they started their operation. Or was he alone? I shake the thought. We'll get to the 'whodunnit' later.

Chakotay's thumb digs into his cheek and his fingers cup his chin. I can tell he already started reading, he's intrigued. That worries me somehow. "All formal logs have been processed by Starfleet and the Reiner Institute– we should focus on any contradictions between the reviewed files and my personal ones." That got his attention.

Chakotay directs his eyes at me. "Contradictions? You mean, well- what contradictions would there be between the formal logs and your private logs?"

"Well," I add "-not contradictions, just…expressions of doubt."

"Right." He closes the workstation and folds his hands. "Just tell me now if we're going to find something bad. I'll back you, you know that right?"

"I know"

I can tell he's tired by the way he reaches out to my hand and warms it with his own. "So what are you afraid of?" Our hands are so different; mine are pale, cold and small – his are strong, warm and almost twice my size. I ponder his question before I answer "You'll see a side of me that you're not so familiar with and not just you; the crew, Starfleet…Everyone."

"Well, I know _I_ don't mind, and I'm pretty sure the crew will understand. Let's worry about the rest later. Okay?" My lips hesitantly echo a soundless 'OK' as he retracts his hand and retakes his former pose; chin resting in his hand, frown aimed at the small viewscreen in front of him.

"You typed this out didn't you?" Even without my confirmation he knows he's right and he seems proud of his detective skills "It doesn't really sound like you." He pauses. "Also, it's in the lay out of a rapport. Stick to captaining, it comes more natural to you". He snickers and treats me to a wink. "It's not the literary reviews I'm worried about. Just read." I say with feigned authority at his poor attempt to lighten the mood.

We decide to work our way down the reference list in the article. It's not in chronological order but we figure these passages are selected for a reason.

"Just read," he repeats my earlier words and drinks a gulp of coffee, presses his lips together at its bitterness, and rolls his shoulders. "Right,'just read'. Here goes."

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Stardate: 54973.4

Time: Late. I don't know.

Music: none.

Drink: Tea. I don't know why. It's old.

15 minutes. We'll dock in 15 minutes.

I'm waiting for Q to tell me it's a joke, or maybe a conduit to open up and suck Voyager in. Anything, ánything that would take us far, far away from Earth would now seem more credible than the truth; the truth that we will be home in 15 minutes. 143 dear and good people will set foot on the docking bay and their –no, our- paths will finally untangle. I don't like the thought. I will miss them everyday. Needless to say this entry won't be long. It may very well be my last.

13 minutes now.

Chakotay is holding the jacket of my dress uniform.

We don't know ourselves outside of this ship and this command anymore. We don't know each other.

12 minutes.

NO FURTHER ENTRIES

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Chakotay is confused after reading my log-entry. "You seemed so carefree and elated. You couldn't stop smiling. But I think I remember this moment. Everything went so fast."

I nod.

He carefully asks "Do you still feel we don't know ourselves? Or each other?"

"It's only been two months since Voyager docked. All we've done since the inquiries ended is either being celebrated by Starfleet brass or getting harassed by journalists. I think we haven't quite landed yet."

Chakotay pushes his mug towards me, he knows mine is empty. I continue: "Tonight's party was nice but I felt- I don't know what I felt. It's all so uncertain. How about you, have you 'landed'?"

"Yes." There is no doubt in his voice. I feel guilty now. He continues as he tugs his ear "My 'landing' had little to do with Voyagers homecoming, though, I 'landed'- " he pauses shortly and ends with a slight scoff "-years ago".

Chakotay slowly shakes his head as he scrolls further down the screen.

"In fact," he continues "I think this next entry may deal with just that."

He clears his throat and reads out loud as I watch him intently.

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Stardate: 49690.1

Time: 00:15:16hrs

Music: Kaleo - Vor í vaglaskógi

Drink: wine

It's my first alcohol here on New Earth. It's bad wine and I don't know why I didn't just replicate a proper one. Chakotay says I shouldn't be so cheap with the energy. His 'carpe diem' outlook on life doesn't always seem sustainable though– or realistic for that matter.

Chakotay seems set on making this a pleasant life for the both of us; he would forgive me if I would replicate a good glass of wine. I do try to humor him but it all seems fake somehow. We haven't addressed the real issues that are so obviously at hand. Will we live celibate now? Can he imagine ever being intimate with me? Will we become some sort of family? We shouldn't condemn children to this life but still, we should talk about these things. What am I even thinking. I don't imagine any of that happening anytime soon though and frankly, I wouldn't know the conversation starter. Here I am contemplating al these 'what if's' while he still calls me 'captain' sometimes. He is quick to correct himself but it's getting awkward. I get out of bed for a midnight coffee and he basically salutes me. It must be horrible for him; less than two years ago he was a respected rebel and now he'll spend his days making house with me, _me_! Does he feel we're merely playing house as well?

We're fine now, acting all polite and perfect, but the frustration will hit him –I'm sure. He'll grow impatient with me, or definitely bored at _some _point. How thick is that layer of respect and 'aye captain'? How long until our god-awful reality comes crashing down on him? His criminal record had a whole section on anger-issues. I wonder when I get to meet 'Chakotay the Maquis warrior', or 'Chakotay the horny drunk'. Maybe I should put the wine away –there that's better. My earphones are starting to irritate me though.

He's drawing with sand right now. Doesn't seem like a man with anger-issues if you ask me. I've heard of Buddhist monks making art out of butter, but I've never heard of 'sandpaintings'. Is it still a painting if it's not made with paint? Maybe_ that_ will be the final drop to overflow my proverbial bucket, 10 years or so down the line, I can see it now _'No I don't need a headboard, No we shouldn't waste the energy on luxury goods and damnit it's not a painting if it's sand!' _I wonder what about me annoys him, surely there's something. I know I should be able to ask but I'd rather just wonder. Maybe he'll one day hit the coffeemug out of my hand, going all berserk '_No, I can't stand the stench of that, Yes, I do prefer blondes and Yes, of course I wish it was B'Elanna instead of you at least she doesn't make a diplomatic mission out of every native rodent we encounter.' _

Then again, he just wipes the sand away when he's done painting; maybe he's not the type to hold grudges.

Shit, he saw me staring.

END OF ENTRY

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Chakotay seems relieved, amused even.

"It looks like we don't need to fact check or cross-reference _any_ of this." He stretches and gets up to sit next to me. "All this, it gives heart to the story, to _our _story. Isn't that what they're always after? Emotion, despair – whatever makes us human." His arm encircles me as he leans his forehead against my temple. "Stealing these is unforgivable. But if they're all like this-"

"Chakotay" I interrupt him. "Seven's big reveal, it's all in there". I turn the workstation around and scroll down the referencelist in the article. "There it is." The very last one, _of course._

I finnish Chakotay's coffee and read out loud.

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Stardate: 54973.2

Time: 08:15:16hrs

Music: LP - Lost On You

Drink: Coffee

"Is he still in love with you?" That's what she'd said. Simple as that.

Tom and I had been hunched over the wallscreen in the meeting room, we hadn't even heard Seven come in; we'd been too engulfed in plotting our trajectory. Not that I would normally meddle with that, this was different though, it was our last trajectory - the final trajectory to reach Earth.

I think I made a silly remark 'I hope not', while looking at Tom, -or something like that.

We'd been in such a good mood.

Now that we're in the alpha quadrant moral on the ship is so high I swear crewmen stop skipping just in time for me to catch them doing it. I get it. Hell, I'd probably join in. It's like we're at arm's length with our moms, dads, husbands, wives, sisters... Phoebe seems closer than ever.

Seven was obviously tense though. We've talked about her trepidation with Voyagers homecoming. I figured her anxiety was acting up again. I think I said "I don't know what you think you know but-" no, no, I just_ had_ to believe her. She had asked Chakotay the same question and apparently he had answered that, 'no, _of course_ he had _never _loved the captain'. Well, that had been a mistake on his part because; as Seven had apparently said to him "then I know you're lying, because I'm certain you once did".

Seven wouldn't be Seven if she didn't clarify -thoroughly so. I could sense Tom shifting as the weight of her statement sank in and Seven calmly argued her case:

"Stardate 53329, I modified my alcove to be a cortical processing subunit so that large amounts of data could be downloaded into the alcove and subsequently into me. I downloaded months worth of data in a matter of hours-"

I had tried to nip it in the bud and said something along the lines of "I believe Tom called it 'learning by sleeping', Seven, have you been conjuring up theories again? - because I must say, impressive as your initial findings were, we both know your conclusions haven't been exactly flawless." She'd even had Chakotay and me conspiring against each other. Well,_ almost_.

She'd then turned around and started pacing as she grew more tense. Seven apparently had had a thought since "-stardate 53329; The thought that he still loves you."

I was experiencing déjà-vu as Seven paced and coldly delivered dates and facts that support whatever theory she'd chosen "Stardate 48439.8: Commander Chakotay researches Captain Janeway's family and fiancé. He spends a disproportionate amount of time on her fiancé. Is he laying the foundation of a fruitful work relationship or is he assessing his competition?"

I wonder what she would deem a 'disproportionate amount of time'.

Tom and I had been flabbergasted, obviously. I think I'd held up a hand as to signal for him he'd better stay silent. He did.

The determination on Seven's face had grown nonetheless, "Stardate 50518.6, Commander Chakotay and the Captain have their first away mission together even though safety guidelines clearly state the preference that either one of the commandteam remains on board. Are they showing the crew that Starfleet and Maquis can cooperate or is their objective of a more personal nature?"

I must look up what my first away-mission with Chakotay was about.

I think at that point I asked Seven what exactly she had shared with Chackotay. No answer.

"Relationships are hard," I assured her "- and trusting someone can be intimidating, at first. We all have difficulties but you _solve_ them by _talking _about them." Seven wanted to speak up but I was quick to add something like "—_together_, you won't solve _anything _bytalking to _me_."

Would she have rattled on like this if the meetingroom had been full? What if I'd been on the bridge? I cringe at the thought.

For a moment Seven was hesitant to continue.

"Stardate 49690.1: Captain Janeway is infected by species 5926" -or whatever species, I can't remember. "... during an away mission and will eventually be left on a planet that will come to be known as New Earth."

Sevens breathing became more heavily as my facial expression shifted from feigned empathy to my best glare - 'glare of death' I think the crew charmingly nicknamed it. Anyway -she continued none the less "The EMH's medical reconstruction complemented with my Borg-data on species 59-something-something clearly shows that the Commander can not have been infected during this away mission."

Silence. It's truly incredible that we did not look into this at the time.

According to Seven there were approximately 2 hours and 16 minutes between the moment that I became infectious and the moment that I was quarantined on the planet. In those 2 hours and 16 minutes I had had contact with 8 crewmembers, none of them had gotten infected. During this time there was no contact between me and the commander.

I truly can't remember. Not after all these years. We should have studied the chain of events straight away, of course, back when our memories of all the when-and-where's were fresh and not spoonfed by Seven who was now on maximum paranoid-mode.

"Seven, _stop_ this." I'd said.

She'd raised her voice "-23 hours Later Commander Chakotay is alone in sickbay with the pathogen in his system. Did the Doctor not handle his cellculture with his regular care, or does the commander infect himself on purpose?"

I'd told Seven that she was implying that Chakotay had willingly abandoned his crewmembers at the very moment that they were about to lose their Captain. I had briskly warned her not to imply that again. Unable to fix the situation at hand I had barged towards the bridge with a firm "I suggest you ask the man in question and let me know when I should get worried."

I was pissed and I hate that I was.

Tom asked if I deemed Sevens allegations true but I waved it off.

Looking back I feel odd about my response. My well constructed role easily dismissed it - Chackotay and I are always a united front, we've worked hard for that. Then again; things are far from normal. The ship is a welcome chaos: crewmen skipping through corridors, Miral being born, the admiral giving us this marvelous technology and we're finally _home._ Freedom awaits.

Later, Tom and I entered the bridge and at that very moment– thát's when we knew. I'll never forget. Never. The bridge was a bustling beehive, three shifts present all at once, just to experience these last hours of our journey. All protocol was thrown out of an airlock and several crewmen had brought snacks and drinks - alcoholic I'm sure. In the midst of it all, there they were; Seven and Chakotay had just left my readyroom as Tom and I left the meetingroom. They froze in their tracks, so did we. Our gazes met. I can't quite put my finger on it but Seven was dumbfounded and Chakotay; I don't know, apologetic I guess.

That moment. The four of us, _we knew._

Seven is right. Chakotay had purposefully infected himself all those years ago.

Later Seven told me that she had believed Chakotay's romantic interest would shift towards her, that all he needed was time. Our homecoming -no, us letting go of our current positions muddles that plan for her. We are now free to love whoever we please. Seven couldn't handle this uncertainty and had been determined to get a straight answer, one way or the other. I can't blame her, really.

It was that moment on the bridge, that véry moment, that I knew my life was about to change.

As I write this, I wear the earphones from New Earth because I remember that my music can easily wake him. Now, only one day after that moment on the bridge, I woke up earlier than him and felt the urge to write down these details, I don't want to ever forget. I won't be able to finish though -he'll wake up soon.

END OF ENTRY

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Chakotay had been listening patiently as I'd read my log entry. He's tired, leaning back against the chair next to mine, legs crossed and stretched, fingers intertwined on his abdomen, head slightly tilted and eyes narrowed.

"So," he says calmly "this can actually get me in trouble."


	2. Chapter 2

Star date: 53940.2

Time: 23:35 hours

Music: Erik Satie – Gnossiene No.1. I can't help it.

Drink: Coffee. I can't help it.

"The status of the Maquis" is what Admiral Hayes had said. It still brings chills down my spine. Six years and there is still 'a status of the Maquis' that is to be discussed once we get home. I love how Chakotay knows exactly what to say. Even if 'crossing that bridge once we get there', really shouldn't ease my mind. It's terrible advice, come to think of it.

He surprised me later today during lunch. We never spoke of our lives after Voyager. It was always so hypothetical. It's a little more real today. Years ago I would have assumed we would all eventually part ways. Not now though. How long do people have to live together until they are a permanent part of each other's life? I figured we'd reached that point by now. Then again, I guess it's not the amount of time that makes it worthwhile.

"I won't be serving as your Commander, that's for sure." He must have seen the shock on my face. I try to remember what exact word he emphasized, I'm pretty sure it wasn't 'your'-that would be horrible. It wasn't 'Commander' either – I guess he's not going for a promotion. "I won't be serving as your Commander, that's for sure."

I didn't hide my shock very well, I guess. He quickly added he would leave Starfleet altogether, "Starfleet is no place for an ex-Maquis." I wonder if that's really what he meant.

"I won't be serving as your Commander, that's for sure." It occurred to me that he may actually hate his post. Am I so engulfed in the work that I'm blind to the fact that he's had a shitty job for 6 years? I can't imagine.

"I won't be serving as your Commander, that's for sure." If he would have asked the question my answer would have been the opposite.

"We remain together, that's for sure."

NO FURTHER ENTRY

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The table looks festive and somehow sad. It's out of place and seems small. Plastic plates no longer form orderly triplets with forks and knives but are now scattered among glasses and bottles. Leftovers are cold and a chunk of bread has landed in some spilled beer. The music outside is loud and invasive where before it had been tastefully restricted to the background. I like it, much to my own surprise, my mother however still tries her best to be heard.

"…only uniforms! So. Yes. What? Oh. Yes. Sorry, what? … it looked nice on screen, though. No –nice on the screen!"

My mother won't let me get up and has had her hands on my shoulders for at least 30 minutes now. She's not herself, I've always known her to be calm but she's been frantic and unable to remain seated for more than a minute. I let her fuss and rant to her visitors. She thinks inviting half the Janeways on the continent and putting up colorful Christmas lights in a blossoming garden will make me feel at home again– she doesn't understand that my idea of home consists solely of greys and the blackness of space.

I trace the wood grain of my mother's table, every line is familiar to me. I dive down as I suddenly remember I had once drawn on the ceiling of my make-shift house that was this table with a sheet covering it. The multicolored stars are still there. I'm elated to have rediscovered this hidden memory, but tears well up and I decide to escape for a while "Mom, I'm going to get some fresh air."

"Will you be back?"

"I will" I kiss her wrinkled cheek and say short goodbyes to the train of relatives heading to the front door.

Outside, the air is cool. I take a deep breath and scan the colorful garden. It's dim lit –my mother does not have enough Christmas lights. Cousins and in-laws form a rhythmic chaos on a make shift dance floor. Ties have been undone. Guests have gradually moved to take part in the excitement on the dance floor instead of lingering around the high tables. Not my sister. Her face lights up as I walk towards her.

"I'm glad to see they haven't changed!"

She slouches somewhat on her barstool, moves her ear to my face and covers it so to filter my voice from the music. "What?"

She's drunk.

"They haven't changed!"

"No, they haven't changed!" She laughs and points at the dance floor.

I'm glad most guests have left. I'm tired of polite conversation. Everyone asks the same questions.

Phoebe pulls my back against her and rests her chin on my shoulder. She slides an arm over my other shoulder in a lazy embrace as we silently watch the others. I can feel the cold metal of her earrings and tilt my head so it rests against her luscious curls.

Phoebe is my opposite in every way imaginable. I've always thought that my parents were so obsessed with my becoming a straight-A student and overall success, that they simply didn't have the energy to do it all over again with my baby sister. Phoebe, of course, denies this adamantly and refuses to be defined by this. I can't blame her. Phoebe did however throw herself wholeheartedly at all the areas where I didn't manage to please my ever-demanding father and mother, so, obviously, Phoebe's a great cook, painter ánd guitarist. Don't ask her what a molecule is though; science is her nemesis. As soon as she had come of age I had repeatedly urged her to join the Academy, she has the brains and no lack of adventurous spirit. Phoebe had always waved it off; 'who prefers physics-summercamp over a seasonlong festival on Mars?" I'd shudder at the thought but Phoebe had supposedly found her purpose in life at those drug-infested festivals – apparently that gift comes with poor facilities, bare chested artists and once even a venereal disease. That's a long time ago now and I wonder if we would be more alike if my parents hadn't invested in us so unevenly. I'm glad I never convinced her to enlist; it might have been a restraint to her rather than an opportunity. Maybe I would have been better off on Mars as well. I shake the thought -no, that's ridiculous.

"Let's do shots."

"Ah. No." I say smiling.

"Let it go." She says, still sitting on the stool behind me, head leisurely on my shoulder. "Chakotay doesn't care if he's fired."

"He's not fired."

"What?"

"He's not fired."

"Yeah, no, right. But he will be. Right?"

I lift my shoulders.

We silently watch as my brother in law wildly gestures at an uncle who had taken control of my mother's audioset. I feel my sister chuckling. "Watch this" she says with sudden anticipation. Some Slavic music starts blasting from the speakers and I'm thankful that the nearest neighbors live miles from here. Phoebe's energylevel rises with every one of her husband's Russian kicks. I pinch the bridge of my nose and can't suppress quiet laughter as my cousins of Irish descent applaud him in awe. I'd expect nothing less of them.

My sister steps from her stool but doesn't relinquish her grip on me while pushing me forwards.

"How about those shots?" My halfhearted attempt to thraw my sister is effective and without further questions she rushes into the house.

Awkwardly I move back to the high table and sit on Phoebe's stool. I lean an elbow on the smooth surface but the table is wobbly, sticky and, much like the dinnertable inside, adorned with spills of beer that now slowly seep towards me. I sit up straight and rearrange some napkins to keep the fluid away from me.

"Join in!" Adrian, my now sweaty brother in law, has rid himself of his jacket and shamelessly puts an arm around me.

"Impressive performance. I deeply respect your calves."

"What?"

"You gave an impressive performance!"

"Yes. I'm looking for a dancepartner!"

I pretend to ponder his poorly cloaked request. "Ask Tom Paris, my pilot, at a reunion."

"Your pilot? Is he Russian?"

"No, but he's the guy to ask."

Adrian throws his head back with laughter even though he's never met the man in question.

A loud cheer draws our attention and we follow the gazes of the partying men. I'm not sure why, but tears well up as I see Chakotay, B'Ellanna and Tom appear from the darkness and stepping into the faint light of the party. B'Ellanna is shaking her head and watches Tom all but skip into the rowdy crowd. Chakotay's frown is my cue to get up.

"I give you Tom!" I say with a dramatic gesture toward the floor. I double tap Adrians upperarm as way of saying goodbye and head towards Chakotay. He stands unmoving and wears a coat that's too thick for this time of year. People yell my name as I approach but I push straight through the crowd until I stand in front of him.

We don't speak. I take his arm, and guide him back into the darkness.

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"I hadn't expected you anymore."

"I hadn't expected the party to still be going. It's quite a contrast to where I came from."

"What did he say? Did they find something?"

Chakotay stops in his tracks and turns to me. "It's not a hack. It's a leak."

"A leak?" I say calmly.

"The admiral has made no formal inquiries because he can't meddle in the investigation but his take on the whole thing is-" He tugs his ear and shortly looks back at the house that is now a few hundred meters from us. I'm surprised we can still hear voices over the music. "He thinks many within the Fleet simply don't want former Maquis within the fold."

"What else is new." My mind is racing and with my hands on my hips I pace back and forth over the gravel road. Our world consists solely of blue tones and black silhouettes since, apart from some Christmaslights in the distance, only the moon and stars cast light on this unlit path and its surrounding fields.

"Various Federation members supported the Maquis' cause, others considered us terrorists – dumb enough to voluntarily live within the Cardassian regime." He sighs. "Is it really so strange that many within the Fleet do their best to get rid of us? We represent a rift in the very core of Starfleet and I guess we're still a threat to its unity."

"That's beside the point though, isn't it?" I look at him intently but he's nothing but a black shape, a few steps removed from me. He moves into my personal space and takes my hand.

"We named ourselves after the Maquis; freedomfighters under the Nazi-regime. I've always considered Cardassia to be the Nazi-equivalent but..I know there were some of us who liked to ascribe that role to the Fleet. I never expected Starfleet to open its arms for me -nor does any other former-Maquis. We made our decision a long time ago and we may count ourselves lucky to be in the position we're in today."

"…the position _we're_ in? The others not in your position, you're taking the fall here, Chakotay. And for what?"

"What exactly is the problem here?"

"What exactly is the problem here?" I can't find the words that can get through to him. "My personal diary is leaked, we're embarrassed in front of the entire Federation, you might have to do time for one foolish decision that has nothing to do with your rebel-past, your reputation is down the drain and most of all, Chakotay – you are among the best of them, it's not fair."

We stare at each other in utter disbelief.

"Do you really think my decision to stay with you on New Earth was foolish? "

I throw my hands in the air. "That's not the point!"

"Let's make it the point. I don't care about my position or my reputation. I'll get by."

"How can you not care?" I can't help myself and start pacing again. "Starfleet can open many doors for you but with a dishonorable discharge it can also close your entrance into _every_ organization and initiative that is _anything _within this Federation." I can tell I'm not convincing him. "Starfleet is better than this, it's better than vulgar leaks and internal rifts and it's-" He remains unmoved. "It's the set of principles on which we act and presume to measure other species, if it falls we must pick it up and lift it even higher, it's" I pause and stare at his solemn face. " -It's what I live and breathe. It's who I am! It's how I was raised. I've been nothing _but_ Starfleet ever since Voyagers departure."

"Yes, well. That may be the case for you b-"

"Yes, that is the case for me." I start pacing back to the house.

"It's not me!" He yells before he sprints to catch up with me.

"Evidently so. How can you simply throw all this away like an old coat?"

"Kathryn, wait."

We turn to each other in a swift move. His face is inches from mine. I'm stiff and stern. He's amused for some reason.

"What's so-"

"You are not Starfleet," he interrupts "I _don't care_ about Starfleet. I _love_ you."

"I know." I smile and rub my forehead. "I love you to."

"So what talk are we having exactly; are you disappointed in the Fleet, are you looking out for a former crewmember or are you afraid this is problem between us?"

"Let me guess," I say as I rest my hands on his chest "you have counterarguments for all of them."

"Of course." He cups my face triumphantly and kisses me slowly. He wraps me tightly in his arms and buries his face under my ear as my arms circle his neck. "Tighter" I say jokingly. With a playful moan he lifts me from the ground and squeezes me tightly.

"I'm scared-" I whisper "and homesick".

"It's like you said," his strong arms gently put me back on the ground so he can look me straight in my eyes. "You haven't landed yet." He smiles. "What are you so afraid of?"

"Pff" I raise my shoulders and look at my feet. They're tiny compared to his. "We made so much sense on Voyager. Together. I think I need to know that we'll make sense here. On Earth."

"I see." He says.

"Kathryn!" Phoebe startled me, she's out of breath and I can only see her if I squint my eyes. "Shots, Kathryn, shots!"

"I'm coming! Just a second."

"Shots, huh?" He likes Phoebe.

I wave it off. "Am I the only one with these concerns?"

"Well," He sighs heavily and I can tell he's thinking of an answer that won't hurt me. He brushes his lips against my forehead and tightens his grip again "I'm glad to put the uniform away. As for us, I have no idea what lies ahead but we'll figure-"

"You'll be fine!" Phoebe is hyper and appears out of nowhere. She proudly holds up two shots of liquor.

"Damn, Phoebe-" Still uncomfortable to display intimacy I wiggle free, "I said 'one second'."

"Mom left with Fred, we're too loud" She giggles and continues to Chakotay as she drinks the small drink with ease. "We have guest beds but- you should really come back, are you coming back? Come on let's go back." Realization hits her "You know, I read the article with all the, ah, you two-" she bends over with laughter and jerks up again to hold us both. "I love you. It's just so, ah- I love you both."

========== ============= ============== ===============.

I have never been more attracted to him than I am right now. I'm swaying B'Ellanna in my arms and watch over her shoulder as he stands at the side of the dance floor. It's obvious that he speaks loudly, even though I can't hear him. They laugh with grand gestures and someone slaps him on the shoulder. He's having a good time with my family and I'm pretty sure he's also experiencing the familiar buzz of alcohol for the first time in over seven years.

"No more!" I look behind me to see what B'Ellanna is yelling at. My sister keeps handing out shots. I get a glimpse of Tom being pulled into some sort of Sirtaki before I turn back. I rather look at him. B'Ellanna and I almost topple over as the Sirtaki-like mass bumps into us and pulls us in. I feel big, warm arms around me and can't stop laughing while Aiden is yelling something inaudible in my general direction. I keep tripping over feet and back out of the dance. Disheveled and out of breath I turn back to face Chakotay. He looks relaxed. They're convincing him of something and he dramatically waves them off. His handsome face is shortly blocked from my view by someone handing out drinks. His fingers casually dangle a beer bottle neck. The view clears and I catch his eye. I can't help but smile broadly. So does he. He stands up straight, takes one more sip and heads in my direction.

"Hey" He says.

"Hey"

Our embrace evolves into a slowdance that in no way fits the music. We smile and don't care what happens around us.

"Do I look Russian?" Tom wraps an arm around Chakotay and looks at me in confusion. "Everyone thinks I'm Russian!"

"Dasvidanya, Tom" Chakotay pushes him away and kisses me. The kiss deepens and I notice a huddle forming around us. We break apart and for a moment I feel as if time slows down. My worries and fears are non-existent and I can't imagine ever having been so carefree as I am right now. I can't wait for our new lives to begin. Finally.

FIN


End file.
